Tony Stark was never the wimpy kid, but he was never the scrappy fighter either. It was just that not even the toughest bullies would mess with a kid that had backup with guns.

Tony never knew much about them. They were suits with thick necks and military buzzcuts, and sunglasses for eyes. Sandwiched between his mother and father, he'd look at the black trouser-clad legs, knowing four more were behind them. All were armed and trained, personally employed and vetted by Howard Stark. Tony's father called them by name sometimes. "John, meet us at the door; Buster, have the car ready at seven," but they all looked the same to Tony. They were the people in the front and the back, keeping them safe.

At MIT, things were a little different. The bodyguards were assigned to Tony specifically and gave up their suits for sweatshirts and jeans to stand in the dark corner of frat house parties where most of the attendees were underage. When the campus police showed up, they hustled Tony out the back and to his private dorm room, making sure he didn't pass out and choke on his own vomit. Funny thing about bodyguards - as impersonal as they made themselves out to be, they were the most personal acquaintances that Tony had ever had. They were nearly family, always around because it was their responsibility.

Pepper asks him what it was like - growing up rich and sheltered and one day he's in a weird mood and he doesn't just say it was fine. Instead, he sighs and says: "Lots of benefits, but not really any friends."

"It must've been strange, being so young and being so far from your parents."

He feels her hand against his bare back, her nails lightly scraping the skin on his shoulder.. "I paid to make sure they stayed away."

Tony lives in the present and the future. He builds on the past, but beyond that, talking about yesterday is moot. But Pepper is curious and Tony is a pushover for her.

"It was Rhodey's idea. He was so freaking paranoid that one of my bodyguards would rat us out for being belligerent drunks and that my dad would have him kicked out or arrested. Can't say I blame him. I would've gotten a slap on the wrist, but he was eighteen. I told him I'd take care of it."

"You bribed your bodyguards?"

"Thoroughly."

"So you had Rhodey. He was your friend."

"Yeah. He was the only guy who was brave enough to hang out with me I think. But ya know, in some weird way, the bodyguards were sort of friendish. I mean... they did stuff for me like all the time."

"You were paying them."

"Yep. But at no time did I ask them to buy me condoms. And I most certainly did not ask them to take Claudia back to her room." He feels Pepper's nails press a little harder in his back at that one.

"Oh my God, you were fifteen! There is something so wrong..."

"Sixteen. And she was on a college visitation. Stop it with the hate."

He tells Pepper about other things. About how hard he had to schmooze the guards to get them to buy booze the first time. About how most of the time it was all about paying them extra to pick up pizzas and Jolt Cola and materials for his lab projects. And about how after they took Claudia to her room, a couple of the guards wrestled Tony out of bed, playfully slapping him upside the head, and gave him a bottle of expensive whiskey, which they all drank until sunrise. "I trusted them," he says at last. "No one ever got a piece of me because of them."

What he doesn't say is that the guards were the only ones besides Obadiah Stane he knew at his parents' funerals. Most of them shook his hand that day, muttered a condolence or just patted him on the shoulder, said "Sorry, kid," and left him alone. Tony didn't have to bribe Obie to buy him drinks that night.

Tony always had someone else making sure he didn't die - parents, guards, Obie, even Rhodey insulated him. "Wear this," Rhodey said, as they'd walked towards the Humvees in Afghanistan. Tony had waved off the bulky vest Rhodey held and patted his chest, barely feeling the slender nanotube protection underneath his shirt and tie. "You look up body armor in five years, Rhodey, and I guarantee you'll see a photo of this baby. Wave of the future. And I can look presentable for the general." Tony had plenty of failed products and ideas, but he counted the vest as one of the worst.

The weapons, on the other hand, were the epitome of genius. Tony had created and tested hundreds of them - everything from handguns small enough to fit into a front pocket to intercontinental missiles. But when it came time to defend his own life, he'd been nearly helpless. Combat defense, fight strategy, how to deflect a right hook - these were things bodyguards practiced, not CEO's, and certainly not engineers. Getting pummeled in that cave motivated him. Originally intended to be a solo defense and escape module, the Iron Man suit also worked amazingly well on the offense. Tony had become a self-made god when he'd built the suit. He could let the humans fire their puny weapons at him while he mocked them and then killed them with a single wave of his hand.

It's ingenuity that brought him the Iron Man suit and it's ingenuity that will protect him. Jarvis calculated the odds of surviving the shrapnel wound as approximately one in three, even if he'd remained very very still for the rest of his life. So, sure - Fate, luck, God, whatever - had a pretty big role for those first few weeks. But the reactor that Tony built with his bare hands and a few scraps gave him his life. He can take whatever blows that anyone will give and keep coming back again and again until he's won every battle and killed every enemy. Tony Stark is nearly invincible.

Sometime between sequestering himself in the shop to make Iron Man and announcing that he was said persona, Tony had let his cadre of bodyguards kick loose. Having them around felt extraneous, but Tony didn't realize he'd literally let his guard down until they started quitting.

One day, he stopped by Pepper's office after she'd dumped a pile of neglected mail on his desk. There had been two resignation letters in there, personally addressed to him. "Pepper, did this..." He looked down at the name on the first letter, "Chuck Sparro - did he say anything? Why are both of these guys leaving?" She shrugged in that way that he knew was protecting him in some way and said she had a lot of things to do. So he held her shoulders and forced her gaze.

"Left. They left two weeks ago. You've lost ten personal bodyguards in the past two months."

Tony had been taken aback and dropped his hands. "But... why?"

Pepper had used his own tactic and put her hands on his shoulders. "Don't make a big deal out of this, but you are... well... Iron Man." She'd said it with just a hint of distaste, like she knew that it was a stroke to his ego that she'd wanted to avoid. "They think you've got it handled."

After that, he'd taken control of the situation. They were sort of right, after all. Weren't they? He was Iron Man. Tony had three guards transferred to the factory outside of LA to do security. He found three more of them jobs outside of the company. Two were assigned full time to the house gates and Tony occasionally offered some of the security guards from the sites a chance to reign in belligerent party guests.

Tony made it a point to ask Happy to stick around - mostly for the fact that the guy was a top notch driver and could nearly outpace Tony in a road race. Hell, Happy probably could beat him, but Tony always took the faster car and Happy took the one that was heavy with armor.

Tonight, after Happy dropped him outside the doors to the condo, Tony told him he could take the rest of the night off. Happy shrugged and said "Sure, boss" and drove away. Five years ago, Happy wouldn't have known how to respond. He probably would've stood at the front door, waiting for Tony to change his mind or for the next shift to arrive. Things are different now.

Pepper was gone tonight - something about an old girlfriend from Columbia. Tony didn't mind. He had fifteen new ideas for reducing power consumption on the suit and he'd barely had any time to work on it since arriving in New York. Tonight was supposed to be the night. For three hours, he bent over the schematics and tinkered with wiring, but then his stomach rumbled and his left eye twitched. He needed a break, some air. He needed takeout. Pizza. Little Italy was a quick jaunt away and there was this place he'd been to once, back before Iron Man. Obie had taken him there years ago.

"Jarvis, is there a place called Manny's in Little Italy? Killer slices? Maybe around Mott and Spring?"

"There are no restaurants called Manny's in that vicinity, sir."

Tony sighed, started the car, put down the top, pushed it into gear and out onto the streets of Manhattan. "Okay. How about this - find me the best pizza joint in Little Italy that's open. And map it."

"Right away sir."

Within seconds, a HUD map appeared in the bottom quarter of the windshield, telling him that the estimated arrival time was 9:12pm at a place called Sandy's. Not very Italian, Tony thought. But the parameters that he's set up within Jarvis's systems are infallible. The system isn't spontaneous, but it is knowledgeable.

The last time he looked at the clock it was 9:08pm. The light turned green, but there were two guns - one to his right and another pointed at his face and he was frozen to the spot for a half second before newly developed instincts kicked in and he grabbed the gun to his left, put his palm up to the gun to his right. There were no second thoughts, no time to remember that he wasn't wearing a suit that could stop bullets. He felt the warm metal against his left palm and it should've been easy to bend the barrel, but it didn't budge. Nothing at all happened at his right, but there was something that sounded like a muffled chortle. Nothing worked as it should. "Jarvis..."

Before Jarvis can answer, Tony's left fingers were turned back and the space between his right eye and his ear was smashed hard. Blurred orange lights cascaded above him as he was dragged headfirst from the car, his feet scrambling for purchase on the pavement. Laid out beside his car, he reached for his phone, but a boot landed somewhere near his liver and he couldn't breathe or see as hands pawed all over him, reaching into his pockets, pulling at his feet. Everything was upside down and inside out. He barely registered the sound of the tires screeching as they drove away.

When the ambulance arrives, Tony lets them properly tend to his face. The cops do everything he expected. His face won't stop bleeding and the only robot that's gotten proficient at stitching flesh is back in Malibu, so he rides to the hospital in the back of the ambulance because the cops won't take him. He shrugs off the lingering pain in his side, telling the doctor he's fine. He gets eight stitches on his cheek, a splint for his fingers that aren't quite broken, and calls the main line to his office because it's the only phone number he's memorized and Jarvis's stoic voice is the only one he wants to hear. The AI answers, tells him the car is on lockdown a mile away from where it was taken, and pages one of the guards from the office to pick up Tony at the hospital.

His name is Jack. Tony had no idea. He's seen the guy a thousand times but he doesn't know which name to use when he comes into the ER bay where Tony is holding an ice pack to his cheek. Jack holds up a pair of sneakers. He somehow senses the struggle and gives Tony a reprieve when the 'thanks' trails into a lingering silence. "Jack. Jack Morris."

"Thanks, Jack."

Unlike the days of his father, Jack wears black cargos and some sort of tech shirt that Tony is sure hides fourteen different weapons and a bluetooth headset. His Stark Industries badge, hanging off a lanyard advertising emThe Few - The Proud/em, is tucked into his t-shirt pocket. His hair is high and tight - probably the same cut as he'd gotten at Parris Island when Tony was still at MIT.

"Ready to go, sir?"

"Yep."

Jack stands in the doorway, looking outwards as Tony struggles to finish tying his shoes and slowly gets to his feet. He's sore as hell already. It'll get worse for two days before it gets better, but the Vicodin the nurse had given him ten minutes ago should be making it's presence known very very soon.

Jack walks him straight up to the entrance of the condo but doesn't come through the door. He asks if Tony needs anything else, and waits until the boss throws the deadbolt to walk away. Tony slumps against the door and goes to the bar, blatantly ignores the warning on the Vicodin bottle, and pours himself the Scotch that he'd intended hours ago. It's nearing midnight and still no sign of Pepper. She might've called.

"Jarvis, anyone call me?"

"Ms. Potts called approximately an hour ago, sir. She will be arriving at approximately 12:30am."

"Where's my stuff, Jarvis?"

"Your vehicle is currently on a tow truck traveling northeast on 1st Avenue from E 5th Street. I also have coordinates for your cellular phone, Sir. As for your watch and boots..."

Tony cuts in. "Who called the truck?"

"Sir, it appears that your vehicle has been recovered by the police." A screen to Tony's right comes alive and shows video of a police officer entering the vehicle and sitting in the front seat. He quickly reaches over and shifts through the glove box, takes something out, then exits the vehicle.

Tony smirks. Take that assholes. He'll watch the full replay later but imagines the scene now: the car turning itself off after a mile, the perpetrators exiting to figure out the problem and the car automatically locking itself down, loudly refusing entry to any and all access points unless the individual was carrying a local police frequency radio. "Cool stuff. Looks like the antitheft device was a success."

"Yes sir. Well done."

"Thank you, Jarvis. Now...uh hunh.." Tony pauses, flipping through screens until he gets to his cell phone. The GPS locator map pops up and shows it stationary in the middle of the Bronx. The phone also has antitheft programming and it will no longer work for anyone but Tony. However, he'd like to retrieve this piece of proprietary machinery.

When the door opens, he can't help it. It seems like every muscle in his body contracts at once and he finds himself on his feet. The reaction surprises him. He's never been prone to panic. His heart hammering, sweat spontaneously breaking out on his brow and under his arms, he sits back down with a wince and mutters a "Hi, honey," to Pepper, who doesn't seem to notice his misplaced reaction.

She's definitely buzzed. She wobbles as she lifts each foot to remove her heels and tells him something about how New York City is far too expensive to be regularly drunk. A hundred dollars on cabs between all the places she and her friends had gone. He mutters a few "uh huhs" and half listens to her recounting the high drama of middle age working moms out on a Manhattan girls night. Tony only notices that she's stopped talking when she's standing in front of him with a her brow cocked and a hand on her hip.

Tony minimizes the screens with his palms and looks up to face her. It strikes him suddenly, watching her struggle with the heels, half drunk, that she came back alone. All by herself she came here. Walking from the bar to the cab, taking a cab, walking from the cab, across the street maybe, and into the building in the middle of Manhattan.. All alone in Christian Louboutin pumps and a Louis Vuitton that had cost him over two grand. Everyone knows who she is, what she is to him. He frowns, then stands.

"What...?" Pepper stands closer and fingers the neckline of his t-shirt. He looks down, noticing the blood on his collar. He'd meant to clean up, but he's been busy looking for his stuff for the past thirty minutes so he hadn't quite gotten there.

"Little accident." He turns, moving towards the bathroom. The Scotch-Vicodin combo feels amazing, but it's dampening his anger control and he doesn't want to fight because rationally, he knows this whole thing is nothing. Or it should be nothing. "I meant to shower- before you got here. Sorry, I uh-, I..."

"You went to the hospital?" Her voice rises in that soft concerned way that is halfway between calling him an idiot and pulling his head to her shoulder. Tony winces. She isn't his mother and he doesn't want one. But it's not her fault - she's concerned. He's endured enough injuries around her that he should be used to this tone, but it still urges him to recoil, to shrug her off, grab a drink, say "I'm fine."

He drops the hand he'd been holding up and fingers the bracelet still on his left wrist. "Uh... yeah. Just - I needed stitches and my robots are at the house and..."

Tony turns, faces Pepper for a moment, frowning. "Wanna come with?" He points to the bathroom.

"I don't understand. Did something..." She motions towards the back, where the Iron Man suit is under lock and key. She doesn't answer his question. He'd said it out of habit anyway. He needs the space.

"Nope."

Tony shuts the door behind him, turns on the water as soon as he can reach it.

The moment he opens the door to the bathroom, steam flooding into the condo, she's talking."The police have recovered your car." Pepper doesn't look up from the couch. She's sitting with a tablet balanced on her knees, tapping the screen sporadically and holding a glass of red wine in the other hand.

Tony lifts the towel draped around his neck and runs it through his hair once more before tossing it back towards the bathroom. There isn't much more he can do or say now that she's gotten the gist of it.. He wonders how much they told her and curses himself for telling Jarvis to turn off the speakers in the bathroom.

He shivers a little as he moves towards the bedroom. Someone has definitely cranked the air conditioner to the uncomfortable level. But curling up in blankets next to a fireplace seems like a better idea than sitting next to the pool. Tony settles for going to his closet. "Did you tell them I'll get it tomorrow?"

"I sent Gus down." The lights automatically turn on within the closet as Tony enters. Gus? He struggles into some loose fitting sweats and a t-shirt. Where was Gus earlier when the car was taken? Where was Happy? He should've been more careful, should've been prepared. God, is he complacent? Reliant on some image of him being the tough guy in a metal suit- too tough to fuck with? He's not all that tough. The metal can dent; with the right projectile force, it can puncture. The shock of a blast is still a shock. And all of that is assuming that he's actually wearing the suit because if he isn't... Tony grabs at a hoody and rips it from the hanger. It clangs against the wall and lands on the carpeted floor with a soft thud. "Did you hear me?" Pepper is suddenly standing at the doorway, still holding a glass of wine.

"Yeah. Yep. Good," Tony mutters, moving towards the doorway, hoping Pepper will take the hint and move out of the way. She doesn't.

"Did you have the doctor look at that?" She leans an elbow on the door's molding, blocking him in.

He looks down at his side, where a half circle of red is starting to tinge with purple.

"It's fine." He puts his hands on Peppers shoulders, looks her square in the eyes, and gently pushes her backwards.

She acquiesces easily enough, but he feels her eyes boring into him as he moves into the center of the room. He wishes they were back in Malibu, in his house, where he could go to his shop and lock her out for a little while, where there are four levels, a pool, stairs, and countless places to retreat. He's barricaded in New York. He barely has room to stretch his legs and as much as his body wants to rest, his mind is on overdrive, his nerves on end. To hell with it. He doesn't need his own energy to run the suit. He heads for the door out to the living space and then further back towards the vault where he keeps it. Pepper is still watching him. It bothers him that she's standing there, that she watches with her arms crossed as he takes off from the balcony, but he isn't sure what else he would rather see her doing.